


This Side Of Perfect

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [35]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, BDSM, Black Hermione Granger, Bottom Harry Potter, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: Fired.Traumatized.Desperate.She needed money to stay in school, to finish her research, to live. How far was she willing to go to get it and what is that she can't remember that seems to be so important?





	1. Fucked

**Author's Note:**

> I felt that this was literally a test of exactly how I could fit two Slytherins and two Gryffindors in a relationship together, add a few other prompts with a healthy dose of Viktor and Harry love. 
> 
> Wish me luck.

The day was warm. A rare occurrence this time of year in London.  Then again, if the Americans had another annual average Fahrenheit degree already loaded in the pipeline like they liked to deny they did, it wasn’t much of a surprise. 

Hell, it was even welcome given how cold she was now, let alone how  _ frozen _ she’d felt inside the building she couldn’t seem to get away from fast enough. Dread and horror curled tighter in her gut with every step away, even as the adrenaline began to wear off. The startling realization of her dismal future struck hard at the core of nerves building up in her gut. The future stretched and spread bleak before her, sapping every kiloujoule from her body. It felt like the hearty lunch simply hadn’t been enough, like she hadn’t eaten at all today and was on the edge of collapse. 

Perhaps that was because she’d thrown it up? 

Her mouth did taste strange, the back of her throat burned. Her shirt was all messed up, buttons missing, her cheeks stained with tears, and the phone in her hand, cheap, old, and plastic, let out a distressed creak as she squeezed it and stumbled away from the building. Her satchel dragged across her body, filled with all of the things on her desk.

_ Sit down, Mia, _ she told herself, throwing her hand out to catch her balance on the edge of a cheap park bench. Fainting in public wasn’t an option. She didn’t have the time and, even if she did, she certainly didn’t have the finances to cover an emergency room trip’s subsequent prescriptions. She was already behind on the anxiety meds she’d been prescribed for years. She’d stopped taking them when they stopped being free. Since they stopped working around then too, she hadn’t seen the harm of it.

Right now, she regretted not even having one of those capsules of synthesized calm to take the edge of, to make her hands stop shaking. 

Hermione rubbed at the darkening bruise on her wrist, willing it and the dirty feeling to go away. 

_ Screaming, _ she heard screaming.

“No,” she said, squeezing the bruise, hoping that the pain would ground her in the present.

She glared at her cheap, comfortable, flats. She'd bought them all of a few weeks ago with the money she'd been saving and now she would have nowhere to wear them to unless a miracle happened.

Her brown feet and curve of her shapely legs beneath her plain black slacks, her brown hands that were at once strong enough to break her flip-phone, yet so weak. 

It wasn’t…

It wasn’t right.

_ Fired… _ she thought, hanging her head and let her legs give out over an old bench.

_ She  _ was the  _ victim!  _ Not that slimey, arrogant--

She looked at the dark brown covering the back of her hands and shook her head.. Hundreds of years, months, weeks, days and seconds to the moment and she was still just as dispensable and HR was still a joke. 

Most of the women there had hated her from the moment he’d started making passes at her. It wasn’t allowed for the black girl to be the boss’s new favorite, let alone a black girl who looked like her. Tina in Accounting got a pass because she could  _ pass. _ There was nothing passing about Hermione’s ninety-percent chocolate coloring. Heaven forbid they consider that she wasn’t interested in that arse no matter how thoroughly she’d avoided ever being alone with him. 

Until today at least.

It hadn’t been her fault. She’d been in the copy room and he’d--

She shuddered, tugging her blouse closed, covering the sensible black bra she wore beneath her ripped white shirt. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the panic as she waited for the telltale sound of Harry’s car. He said it would take a little time, but he was on his lunch break so it wasn’t a problem. The other option had been to simply take the trolley. 

_ Don’t you even think about--I’ll kill him. No, wait. I’ll get Viktor to kill him. Just get somewhere to sit. Okay, Mia? Breathe, I’m coming. I promise. _

She let his words replay as she rocked in her seat. Harry soft voice always made the panic easier. He was a natural counselor, a natural social worker really. That voice could put even the fussiest babies to sleep and it seemed to work well on grown, half-crazed women as well. How many times had he put her to sleep with that voice?

The v6, well-maintained German engine rumbled to a stop near her.  Harry had arrived faster than he said he would, probably frantic with worry.  She looked up and saw him climb out of his car to walk towards her. His hair was still an unruly mess and his bright green were looking at her with that concern that made her heart ache. 

“You alright?” Harry asked. 

Hermione looked up at him and let out an incredulous laugh, “I’m fucked.”


	2. The Return of Malfoy-- Draco Malfoy

She couldn’t believe that ruddy ginger. She was glad she socked him right in his stupid face no matter how sad Harry looked when she’d done it. She felt almost as vindicated as she had when she'd socked Draco Malfoy all those years ago. Sure, she got suspended, the orphanage got on her ass for months after, but she was the hero of the school and Draco had reformed himself for the better.

It was a win in her book and honestly, some people needed a punch to the face to get their head out of their asses. 

_ You should have just slept with him. What’s the big deal? Weren't you hoping for a promotion? My sister’s done it loads of times and look where it's gotten her. How often is someone going to offer you that anyway? _

The arse hadn’t even bothered to think about how insulting to her character and her worth it was to say that, let alone how insulting it was to Ginny. She and Ginny didn't particularly get along, even before Ginny realized that Harry was gay and not pining for Hermione, but she respected Ginny, her privacy and her right to do whatever she did without being judged for it. If Ginny slept through the office for promotions, for a good time, for leverage or whatever, that was her right to do it. It was also Ginny’s business to keep divulge, not Ron’s.

Whether it was true or not, Hermione just didn't have the heart or stomach for it--no matter how desperately she needed the job and no matter how ambitious she actually was. In her mind, sleeping with higher-ups for a promotion, for a raise, for whatever was a line she’d never be willing to cross. For goodness sake, it just opened a chance for HR complaints, harassment charges, being fired, blackmailed and so much more. It was slippery slope of trouble that would probably not work as well for her and her skin tone in this day and age. 

She looked down at her hand, a healthy brown in the daylight and scoffed. Someone probably had a million and three fantasies and fetishes about bending a beautiful black woman over their desk and degrading her, of have power over her, but she wasn’t the one to fill that role. 

To his credit, Harry had been downright indignant before Ron had even finished his speech, but there were no words after she’d punched Ron in the face and left.  She hoped Harry wouldn’t remain upset with her for long. She just didn’t have any defenses against his green eyes and sad voice.

_ Mia, _ she heard him and shook her head. She would have been done for if he'd finished that statement. She might have actually apologized, such was the nature of their relationship. How did Viktor manage to stand his ground with Harry so well?

Given their background, she shouldn't have expected to develop any resistance in the near future even if Viktor tutored her. She and Harry were orphans, the only semblance of family either of them had. Harry’s parents had been killed by the same psychos who had killed her parents and nearly killed her. They ended up in the same orphanage together after he’d been taken from his mother’s family for reported abuse and neglect. It had been his father’s family who had taken interest in him years later after the Durselys had reached out to them about Harry’s inheritance. By then, they'd been in upper school and more or less independent.

The Potters had welcomed him in with open arms. Between them, his godfather, Sirius Black, and his surrogate uncles Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, Harry had more than enough love to make up for the years without it. Harry had not forgotten her when his family had found him, but clung to her hand and taken her with him as much as she allowed. That meant a place to spend holidays and care packages in university, but there was no forgetting that they were  _ his  _ family and her real family hadn't given a damn about her, too busy fighting over what scraps they could get from her parent’s estate.

_ You could-- _

She stomped that thought out. She'd never even opened that package. When she met the old man again at eighteen she told him to invest it and create a retirement fund. She never opened it, never opened the prospect paperwork or anything, but neatly filed it all away. She needed to focus and that money only made her insides knot up and her brain hazy.

For now, she was running, trying to run off the steam and nerves after getting back to her apartment the day before and explaining to Harry that she was well and truly fucked. She needed a plan; she needed time and a job. 

She needed a job. 

She need a--

She heard the screeching of tires and the opening of the door before hands were on her. She screamed even as her body told her to fight. 

_ Fluttering light blue sheets. _

_ Gossamer sheets of moonlight around the open window. _

_ The engine running. _

_ Screaming for help--crash! _

_ “Papa?! _ ”

“Get off me!” She yelled, jabbing her elbow into someone’s face. Someone grabbed her legs, hauling her up and grunting. The figure stumbled, nearly dropping her in his haste.

“Heavy tart--”

_ I won’t go back there. I don’t want to go back there. I’d rather die. I won’t go back there.  _

_ I won’t go-- _

He cried out at the swift knee to the face he received as she bit the other captor’s hand hard enough to draw blood. The man dropped her half on the bed of the van and she twisted her body out of it before the other could regain his senses and shove her fully into the van. 

“ _ No! No! NO! _ ” she heard herself screaming, the lines between now and then are blurred, indistinguishable, but it didn’t matter. 

That prick of pain in her thigh, adrenaline-- her limbs wouldn’t move any faster.

_ “Run, Mia! Run! _ ”

“You fucking--”

Glass exploded, metal dented and suddenly she was free, rolling across the ground and losing herself for just a moment to the panic as something ripped and screeched.

_ Gravel dust and tires screeching. _

_ “Maman?” _

She tumbled away, hearing herself screaming until the sounds of the now returned to her. The van was gone. The attackers were gone. Someone was kneeling by her, talking to her, but she heard nothing, hugging her knees and forcing herself to breathe around the panic. 

“ _ Maman? Papa? _ ”

“ _ It’s okay, _ ” someone soothed tugging her body apart to pull her close and rock her. “ _ The police are on the way. It’s okay, just breathe. _ ”

The scent of the person was what tugged her out of the haze, slowly and surely. She could hear more than the white noise and the voice above her. She remembered the three facts of now that drew a hard line between itself and then:  _ they _ were in jail,  _ she _ was bigger, and her parents were dead.

“Shh…” the voice soothed from a body that was so warm and smelled like patchouli and luxury. She breathed and pulled back, catching herself as she looked up into a face she hadn't seen since high school.

“Draco?”

His eyebrows knitted together, gray eyes looked at her, searching her face before widening in recognition.

“Granger?”

He blinked, looking at her with an appraising eye that made her swallow nervously. Draco looked every bit the affluent, well brought up young man he was. There wasn't a hint of the long days of arguing in debate or rivalry for the top spot there in his eyes, but an open masculine appreciation.

A  _ very  _ open masculine appreciation of her.

He helped her to her feet, “Well, haven't you grown up?”

“As have you,” she said politely, shying away from his openly appraising gaze.

She drew away from him slowly and looked to the ground. Those grey eyes seemed to be looking straight through her, into her soul maybe. She couldn’t keep meeting his eyes. 

He’d know.

He’d know things that she couldn’t and wouldn’t remember.

He’d know and go screaming down the street in terror of exactly how--

“Thank you for the rescue,” Hermione said. “I owe you drinks or something.”

Draco slid an arm around her waist as she turned to go and found her legs little better than jello as supports. Her head was filled with a very different noise and she heard her heart beating faster, something metallic in her mouth. 

_ Drugged, _ her body knew this drug. Familiar, like antiseptic and malice.

_ I won’t  go back there.  _

_ I won’t ever go back there. _

_ I’d rather die.  _

_ Maman? _

_ Papa!? _

“Easy there, Granger. Hell of a fighter you are, but you aren't any shape to be going anywhere. Especially not after being almost abducted off the street.”

It isn't that he's right that makes her pliant, docile almost. It's his voice. A low baritone now, warm and heady blanketing her frazzled nerves in comfort and quiet. Draco wouldn’t hurt her. He and Harry were practically cousins now and though they hadn’t gotten along in school, Draco had a chivalrous streak a mile wide. He’d clearly grown out of trying to hide that fact with his father gone and a few years of peace under his belt.

He scooped her up rather easily considering his build and carried her towards a vehicle not too far away to sit her in the passenger seat. The leather smelled expensive like bourbon and diamonds. She felt his jacket over her, smelled the scent of him wafting off the collar and vaguely recognized that he was on the phone calling the police.

“Yes, I think perhaps they drugged her with something. License plate number…”

*

It smelled like that place she'd forgotten, buried so deep in her memories that even the hypnotist couldn't reach them. 

Antiseptic.

Linoleum.

Blood.

_ Maman? _

She opened her eyes to see Harry there. His mop of unruly black hair bent over the edge of her bed, his hand in hers gripping it tightly and Viktor coming in through the door. He smiled and came towards her.

Viktor could tell on sight that she had been more unconcious than sleeping the past few hours and that she hadn’t been sleeping at all over the past few days.

“Hello mila, how do you feel?”

She blinked blearily at him and sat up. He was still dressed as if he was on shift, but Viktor would have never taken her as a patient. He was so very noble after all. 

“I'm at Durmstrang?”

“No,” he said easily, closing the door behind him. “London Memorial. I just got off shift to bring Harry food.”

He set the package down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of her bed to get a better look at her. She looked worse than Harry had told him. Harried, frightened, restless. 

_ Perhaps they should give her a sedative too, _ he thought and resisted the urge to look at her charts. 

“You've been unconscious for two days.”

She winced and flopped back. Just what she needed--  _ another bill…  _ Yes, the visit was free, but the medications wouldn’t be and given her unique physical cocktail, they would be more expensive than the standard Xanax and Aspirin combo.

“Gods help me,” she said softly.

“If you’re concerned about the bill, Draco has already taken care of it.”

She groaned as Viktor laughed and took her hand.

“Breathe,” he said. “It is not so bad to admit you need help  _ and _ receive it.”

“I--”

“Need help,” he finished. “Harry has already told me everything, though why you didn’t I don’t understand.”

Hermione glared at him, “Well Viktor, there’s this thing called--”

“Stubbornness,” he said with a smug smile. 

Hermione closed her mouth and Viktor nodded, taking great pride in it before looking over at Harry, still sleeping. 

“It’s okay, mila. Lyubov is just as stubborn.”

Hermione gave him a wry look. That dreamy look on his face looking at Harry. It still made her smile. They were so damned adorable.

“Please contain your flirting to when he is  _ awake _ , you’re already in my good graces.”

“I know,” he said. “Will you agree to eat or will you fret about paying me back?”

Hermione glared at him, “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am,” he corrected while opening the bag to hand her a bowl of her favorite pho and a bahn mi.

She groaned seeing it and extend her hand making grabby hands at the meal.

“Curse you knowing my weakness,” she said, hanging her head. 

“Always stay on the good side of the best friend.”

“That would be Ron.”

He scoffed, “No, that’s you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but stopped herself as Harry began to wake up. 

“ _ Hello, my love, _ ” he said to Harry, reaching out to cup his cheek. 

If she didn’t know better, she would have said that they had just met and Harry was easily flustered. As it stood, they’d been dating for about half a year now and Harry was easily flustered by Viktor who seemed to always be pouring affection over Harry. It made her smile every time Harry stammered and flushed under Viktor’s attention. Harry needed some affectionate attention to make up for the years with his Aunt and Uncle. 

His godfather, uncles and the remaining living Potters had the parental affection covered since finding him, but Viktor had taken over the romantic bit.

_ With exceeding pleasure, _ she thought wryly.

“Try not to jump each other while I’m panicking about my financial state of affairs please?”

The flush spread to reach his ears and he pulled his bowl closer to him as Viktor pouted at her. 

“I was enjoying that,” he said. 

“And you’ll have plenty of time to continue doing so when I get out of here.”

Viktor smirked and Harry ducked his head, preferring to nearly drown himself in his soup than look at Viktor’s face. She shook her head. She knew they had a pretty healthy sex life if only because of Harry’s reactions to Viktor. 

The door opened and Draco sauntered in with a pleasant smile.

“Hello,” he said. “I see the woman of the hour is awake.”

He took a seat on the cheap chair as if it was a throne and smiled at her serenely. She was sure that she’d never seen this particular expression on Draco’s face, let alone directed at her. Her cheeks heated and she froze under that steely gaze. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said hesitantly. 

“From my talks with Harry, I believe I have a proposition you may be interested in.”

“A proposition?” She asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What sort of talks could you have had with Harry?”

“Considering the length of time you’ve been out, quite a few including the fact that you were recently fired and are in need of employment.”

Hermione met his gaze and tried her best to read her mind. As with her usual attempts, she wasn’t successful, but she did get an odd sense of understanding. 

At the very least Draco wasn’t lying to her, nor in a place where he needed to humiliate her. That was enough of a reason to simply ask, “What did you have in mind?”


	3. Hope-- The Evaluation

Hermione, quite usually, wouldn’t have even considered this, but with a week passed since employment and the terror of not being able to make her next school payment, let alone save for her thesis and start-up, she had no choice. 

She’d looked up the Dragon’s House and from what little she could find it was a well-paid waitressing, bartending, club job due to the clientele that usually frequented there. The open audition that Draco mentioned was posted on the website and encouraged people to show up between the given hours and not worry about what to wear. 

She’d taken it literally and went from the library finishing up the second part of her thesis proposal to the daycare she volunteered at straight to the Dragon’s House. 

Upon entering, she immediately regretted not at least changing into a shirt that wasn’t covered in fingerpaint…. That was also probably in her hair. 

The men and women who lined the chairs waiting to for something seemed to be here for a casting audition, a runway of sorts… not a waiter’s position and that made her stomach churn. 

Before she could back out, a woman called to her. 

“Are you here for the audition?”

She turned to look into the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The woman looked young, pale, with long blonde hair and an unnervingly open expression. 

“Y-Yes… I am.”

She smiled and beckoned her over to her station to get her a clipboard and a numbered badge. 

“I’m Luna, I’ve been working here for about two years. Thank you for coming. If you have any questions about the paperwork, please let me know, okay?”

Hermione nodded, thankful for her cheery disposition and took the woman’s offering of pudding before moving to take an empty seat on the edge. The pudding was chocolate, simple and delicious and made filling out the questionnaire a little easier. 

_ If you… _

She frowned at the phrasing of the question. It seemed that this was more of a psychic evaluation than a job application, which was fine with her. Some of the questions were simple, others more complicated, but they didn’t make her feel like someone was trying to poke around in her brain. 

Some of them were downright hilarious. When she finished, there was another group of women coming in, talking among themselves about Luna’s attire. Tiny radishes in her ears, a brightly colored top and skirt. The three of them made their way down the hall and took one glance at Hermione and laughed. 

“Didn’t she know what kind of place this is?”

“Seriously, how pathetic.”

She realized quickly that she recognized two of them. One Lavender Brown, the other Ginny Weasley. 

Her eyes narrowed at the women as they continued to giggle before she stood to threw her pudding cup away and return the clipboard to Luna. 

“I don’t take it to heart,” Luna said easily. “They won’t make it past the first round.”

Hermione blinked and looked at her, “Your earrings are cool. I used to have carrots.”

“Red ones?” She asked. 

“They were purple actually.”

Luna grinned at her, “I hope you make it through. It would be nice to have more sane people around.”

She chuckled at that and nodded, “Is there anything else that I need to fill out?”

Luna hummed lifting her hands enough for Hermione to recognize her bracelet. While made out of extraordinarily expensive materials, there was no mistaking the charms on it.

“Is that… My Little Pony?”

Luna looked at it and then nodded with a smile. “It was a birthday gift.”

“It’s amazing,” she said. “A few kids from the daycare I volunteer for are absolutely in love with the show. Admittedly, I have watched more of it than they have.”

Luna grinned, “In case they quiz you?”

“Actually, it comes on right before the Powerpuff Girls.”

Luna’s eyes grew wide, “You’re a PPG fan?”

Hermione laughed, “How could I not be? Not the new series, but the classic? I could watch it for hours.”

How they launched into a conversation about the three kindergarten age superheroes, she couldn’t tell anyone, but what she could say was that when they were called in they were somewhere in the second season, though they’d skipped around a lot. The woman told them that after they finished their evaluation they could head out to lunch and they’d get a call back if they were accepted into the next stage. 

Luna threw up her hands and demanded that they go out for lunch together. Hermione didn’t see an issue with it, so she let Luna lock arms with her after making a call to let someone know where she was going. Lunch was fantastic, she’d never been to cafe that Luna took them to, but it was delicious and when her phone rang telling her that she was welcome to come back for the second round, she went into the room and looked around with a smile before taking a seat along with the other candidates. The woman who comes in to explain the next phase is barely a slip of a thing. She’s so pale that Hermione wondered if she was going into shock, but her voice is clear and to the point. 

They would be given an hour to shower, pick from the extensive closet in the room in preparation for the panel interview. 

“You should dress as if attending a mixer,” she said. “Your time begins now.”

Hermione took one look around  the room and headed towards the showers. There was no one in the room anywhere near her size, so if there was something on the rack that fit her it would still be there when she got back. 

Before she entered the shower, she stopped at the accessory and shoe rack. Her eyes scanned the collection. She decided on a pair of simple brown platform heels that almost perfectly matched her skin tone, cushioned on the inside. Whether they were expensive or not, she didn’t know, but she did step into them to be sure they would fit. They did and if she snatched up the sparkly clutch and simple gold chandelier earrings, then it was to the loss of everyone else. 

After she showered, she took down her hair and went looking for hair accessories and lotion. True to her prediction, the rest of the constituents were either in the shower or still perusing the racks. She didn’t bother going anywhere near them, flocking to the other side where clothes looked more like her style and size. There were only a few colors she always felt she looked good in: black was one of them, but there wasn’t a black dress, nor a blue dress. She shook her head, looking between the three options she had that would fit well enough. It was either a rich green, a pale pink, or a vibrant red. She cringed at the color and the cut, but there was no denying that it was the best option. 

Goodness, it was so red.. 

She almost prayed that it didn’t fit, but considering how well the underwear she’d gotten out of a package in the little locker she’d been assigned fit, she had no doubt this would fit too. 

Hell, the bra she was wearing fit perfectly and that in and of itself was a rarity.

A few more glances through the racks produced a gold clip for her hair and an anklet that was just enough flirty and just low key enough that she didn’t didn’t feel weird picking it up. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn an anklet, but she remembered that once upon a time they had been her favorite form of jewelry.

The dress fit perfectly, A vintage sweetheart bodice beneath an overlay of lace that went over her shoulders in a delicate design, and a close fit with more than enough support and coverage for it to fashionable, flirty, flattering, and business worthy. She spun in the mirror, smiling a bit, surprised. Maybe she should rethink the idea of being staunchly against red. 

Then again, she was definitely outside of her element right now. No sense in pretending that she wasn’t. She twisted her over her shoulder and clipped it neatly, smiling at the curls her twists left in her hair. She couldn’t remember the last time that she’d dressed up. A touch of lipstick, gloss, eyeshadow, mascara and a final check, she walked out of the dressing room  to join the rest of the candidates who had walked out. 

If maybe they were surprised at her appearance, no one said anything. The woman walked them all through the hallways into a few different rooms. She took a seat  when offered and sat quietly at the table as the woman explained that the interview panel would be arriving soon enough.

When she left, Hermione turned to the woman beside her and smiled, “Your shoes are gorgeous.”

The woman gave her a strange look and lifted her nose, “Of course they are. Some of us have good taste.”

Hermione’s eyes drifted up, “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“You being here is a joke,” she said. “Everyone knows that the Dragon’s House only hires the  _ best _ and you’re not it. I’m not even sure why you bothered coming.”

Hermione smiled politely, “It may not be a popular thought, but people who have responsibilities and aspirations do what they have to do in order to get where they need to be.”

She turned back to face the empty table, “Whether this works out or not, it’s one of many opportunities and I was taught to seize all of them if you have the chance.”

The door opened and she watched the three interviewers walk in. She smiled brightly, took a deep breath and sat up straight as they sat down. Whatever anyone in this room thought, she would do her best. 

That was really all she could do.

*

“ _ What?!” _

Hermione turned towards where the woman was shrieking. It seemed that whatever the woman had been told after going to get changed back into her clothes wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Hermione remained in the dress she’d chosen and watched the woman stomp out furiously. When a few other people were gone, leaving only about ten people in the room, the woman who’d been guiding them throug the process returned to announce that they’d made it to the 3rd round of the interview: the environment test. 

“You’ll be put onto the floor with customers of the Dragon’s House and observed. At the end of the night, you’ll be evaluated . Are there any questions?”

Hermione frowned, glancing up at the clock. 

It was barely six o clock. How long could this night be?

It turned out that it was a lot longer than she’d first anticipated and she was forever grateful that she chose a pair of heels with good support in them, otherwise, she would probably be limping around like several others were. 

She was also incredibly grateful for her short stint into pageantry during college. Those women had been harsh, poking and prodding at her, but they’d taught her grace under fire and how to charm people. 

They’d taught her to become someone else when normal bookish Hermione Granger just wouldn’t cut it. 

The night ended at midnight with the woman dismissing them from the floor and the clients being funneled over to the main room. She dismissed them to get changed back into the clothes they’d arrived in before assembling them in the foyer. 

“Thank you for your time. You’ll be contacted no later than noon tomorrow about your application whether you have passed or failed. Miss Granger and Mr. Freedmont, if you would both follow me.”

She and the man in question followed the woman out of the room and up a set of stairs. She opened the door to an office.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’ve brought them.”

“Fantastic!” Draco said and Hermione gasped seeing them. “Thank you, Daphne.”

_ Oh Gods, what did I do? _


End file.
